


The Width of a Mirror's Edge

by TinyBat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, F/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:32:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyBat/pseuds/TinyBat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, a transfer from the American branch of the Auror department is sent on a standard artifacts retrieval mission. He finds a very peculiar mirror, and something he knows he can never have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Width of a Mirror's Edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Felceris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felceris/gifts).



> Dean/Jo prompt: Harry Potter AU. Dean & Jo dated at Hogwarts, but it ended in a spectacularly bad fashion. Dean & Sam are aurors. On a mission, Dean stumbles upon the mirror of Erised and sees the life he wants with Jo but can never have.
> 
> Kolbee, I hope you're satisfied with this. It's not exactly what you asked for, but this seemed to write itself, I think it flows better this way.

Dean wasn't entirely clear on why he'd been the one for the job, since if anyone was more qualified for an artifacts retrieval mission, it'd be his brother Sam. Sam however, was currently in the bowels of Romania assisting in the "re-education" of a nest of vampires; there had been a shake-up in the department so here he was in the ass end of Nowhere, England clearing out an empty house of pieces better off in museums, or for the Department of Educational Magical Artifacts. Dean's job usually ended up being very messy, very violent, and very fast paced, Aurors had to be very good at their jobs to live past 30 and Dean was one of the best. 

He and Sam had been temporary transfers to the London office of the Ministry, it had been a personal request by the head of the department, he'd overseen some of their training with Auror Singer once they'd both finished school. Sam had taken spectacularly to England, Dean always knew he would. It was exactly the place for Sam, it felt old, it felt historic. Sam liked that, Dean liked things that made his blood rush and his mind race, Dean was a fighter, Sam was a scholar. 

The little village had been difficult to get to, even with Floo Powder, but at least it was a wizarding village so he wouldn't need to worry about being discreet. The file he'd been given said that the residents of the neighboring houses had complained of noises coming from the long abandoned shell of a place, but when a team was sent in to flush out any creatures in the area, the house had just proved to be full of old art, urns, and pieces from all over wizarding Europe. Dean found it without trouble, which was a relief since his trip had been more than a little unpleasant, and he had to briefly fight down the urge to knock.The door swung open at a very light touch, Dean was going to have a word with the team for being so careless about their exit. The walls were pitted with scarring from offensive spells, the floors were scuffed, the carpets torn to shreds, and there was a chilling wail coming from a room off the second floor landing. He'd start packing stuff up and checking for hexes once he found out what that noise was.  
Keeping his wand out, Dean climbed the stairs, pausing on occasion to listen for anything over the sobbing; hearing nothing he carried on, his feet kicking up dust from a still mostly intact rug. The noise was coming from a painting on the wall at the end of a hallway. A forlorn looking woman was rocking a small bundle, the bundle wriggling and gurgling in her arms. A muttered spell silenced the woman, and he mentally made a note to have that be one of the first pieces removed from the premises. A glint of light caught Dean's eye and he made his way into what looked like an abandoned nursery, a large and beautiful mirror was reflecting moonlight in from a shattered window pane. 

Dean looked at the mirror, the inscription over the top was hard to read, but it didn't look or feel threatening, he didn't move to touch the glass though. It didn't pay to touch anything in here without ensuring that any harmful magic had been neutralized. His reflection was there, his ripped jeans and dark jacket standing out in the dilapidated but still lovely room. Sam stood behind him, smiling and waving, his arm around someone Dean couldn't make out very clearly. He knew for a fact that there was nobody behind him but even if he wanted to turn away, something about the glass transfixed him.

The person next to Sam was becoming clearer now, her name was Jessica, she'd been in school with Sam and she had died on a mission a little over a year ago, they were engaged to be married. Jessica had been beautiful, intelligent, and an absolute firecracker, Dean used to joke that if Sam wasn't going to marry her, that he would. Sam's arm was wrapped tightly around her and his hand was resting on her swollen belly. Both of them were still smiling, and more people were coming into focus, Bobby, or Auror Singer as he was called at work was there, holding up a can of beer, Ash, an Unspeakable Dean had worked with on several occasions was leaning an arm on Bobby's shoulder and saluting, and Dean's chest tightened seeing two more figures.

His parents were there, his mother every bit as beautiful as Dean remembered her, and his father too, looking much younger than Dean could recall, he was there though, handsome and laughing, with his wife hugging him and holding his hand. Sam and Dean's mother had died in a house fire when Dean was still very young, Sam had only just been born and Dean's father had never recovered. He had been an Auror like his wife, he had thrown himself even more recklessly into his work, often coming back to their rented apartment exhausted, and stinking with drying gore or mud, or something else Dean could never really see. The department had tried to fire him several times but he was just too good, but he was only a shell of himself; he and his wife had been a team, they were the most effective in the whole of the American branch. 

Mary, Dean's mother leaned over and kissed his reflection on the cheek, motioning to someone Dean couldn't see, but suddenly, there she was. Jo Harvelle was standing right next to his mother, she was there, beautiful, whole, and close enough to touch. Seeing her there stole the breath from Dean's lungs and the dizziness it brought on swirled in with the crushing ache he'd been working so hard to bury. Jo had been another American transfer, she was brash, impulsive, and still green, but so very gifted. Dean had taken to her immediately, they worked so well together, nearly as well as he and Sam. Sam had loved her too, he didn't get too many people who'd give Dean a hard time like he could. Jo had felt right with them after they lost their father, both men still healing.

Jo had been like sunlight, and Jess had immediately taken to her as well. The four of them were inseparable, Jess had a steady hand and had patched all of them of them up more than once, then the two women would go for drinks if they could still stand. After Jessica had been killed, Jo's light had dimmed, but loss wasn't a stranger to her. Her father had been killed by a rogue werewolf, and Jo's prejudice had blinded her, it had almost cost her the job but she worked through it. Jo was tough, surprisingly tough for her small size, more than once something massive and savage had come at her and she had dispatched it with very little trouble. In their line of work nobody was lucky all the time, Jo had been stunned and abducted while out in the Black Forest with a retrieval squad. There were still dark wizards hiding in places like the Black Forest, and it didn't always matter who they took, as long as the Ministry got the message. 

When they'd finally given Jo back, she was barely fit to be called alive, let alone human. She'd been physically beaten and savaged by a werewolf, jagged half healed scars and fresh but infected wounds marking her clammy skin. What had been done to her body was nothing compared to the fractured pieces of the mind she'd been left with. Any fortitude the woman possessed, any strength, it had been stolen from her so completely that it might as well have never existed at all. St. Mungo's was doing what they could, but she was locked away in a charmed cell every full moon, whatever her captors had done to her, no Wolfsbane potion could get her through her transformations. She was rarely lucid during Dean's visits, she would spend them searching his face for something she couldn't seem to put into words; sometimes she'd cry, sometimes she'd scream until her throat was raw and her nose bled from the exertion, and sometimes she was silent, only barely there. 

Dean's Jo, his Joanna was standing there right in front of him, her cheeks healthy and pink, the skin under her eyes unbruised from exhaustion, and her hair full and healthy. She looked so happy, talking to his mother and laughing at something Dean couldn't hear. The reflection of her pulled away from Mary and wrapped her arms around the reflection of himself, they kissed and he watched himself join in the laughter. Dean fell to his knees, his stomach churning and twisting, tears spilling out of his eyes and down his cheeks. There she was, with him, safe, and happy, and beautifully whole.

Every person Dean had ever cared about was right there in front of him, they all looked so natural together, like they spent all of their time together. This is what Dean's life could have been, he could see it, it was there standing in front of his eyes. His life as it should be was reflected in the mirror, the life he deserved, with Sam and Jess, Bobby, Ash, his parents, and with Jo. More than anything the sight of her made him ache, his own crying felt louder than the woman in the painting, his grief was overwhelming him, and it tasted like poison. If he could just stay here, just stay with the mirror, he'd never have to hurt again. Everything he loved was right here, and he never wanted to leave it. 

A dull thump woke Dean, his whole body was sore, and his mouth tasted like dust. Two of his co-workers were standing above him, looking very concerned. Apparently he had fallen asleep, and when he hadn't checked in, they'd been sent in to check on him. The mirror was gone, so was the painting in the hallway. The younger of the two took him outside, and apparated them both back to Dean's office. He looked concerned, pushing a glass of water Dean's way, and said that he could take the day off, maybe he should get a quick once over, and that he'd be going back to finish up. Dean watched him disappear, leaned over, and vomited into his trashcan. Everything he had seen last night was rushing back to him and the waves of emotion were making him sick. Whatever that mirror had been, Dean never wanted to see it again.

Sam would be back in a few days, and he knew that seeing his brother would hurt, but he'd do what he'd been doing for years, and he'd bury it. Bury it down with his loneliness, his anger, and his sadness, Sam had his own troubles, and Dean didn't need to add more. Sam had lost just as many people and he worked through it, Dean would never be that good, that attuned to his own needs. No, the losses he bore like scars, gaining a fresh one on each visit to Jo's little ward with white curtains and a bed. He'd grow old doing his job, and when he was old, he'd feel nothing at all, he'd be made of nothing but scar tissue. He was a good soldier, and this was his war, he'd do his best to keep fighting because now he wasn't capable of anything else, his future was gone. Now he'd do the job until he dropped, he owed it to Jess, he owed it to his parents, and he owed it to Jo, or the memory of her he kept locked away in his heart. He'd keep fighting for her, and the reflection of her in he saw in the mirror. Maybe one day if he fought hard enough, she'd come back.


End file.
